


No closer to Heaven

by apepperstory



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Other, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apepperstory/pseuds/apepperstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karat from District One has been waiting for this moment all his life, but his lover Ianthe isn't ready to watch him risk it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The last evening

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Hunger Games AU fic for OCs based on a RP. It doesn't abide 100% to canon, but I did try to stay true to most details. A lot of the characters are borrowed from my friends with permission (out of everyone important, only Karat and his relatives are actually my own OCs.)
> 
> More warnings might be added later as more chapters are published; I'm unsure what needs tagging at the moment.
> 
> Disclaimer about Ianthe: He is agender, but doesn't have a specific pronoun preference. 'He' is used most commonly by those close to him, but some people in the story will be using 'she' instead, which he doesn't mind. Unfortunately the binary nature of the reaping forces some misgendering on him, but that's the only time it will happen during the whole story.

He can already imagine it. The announcer calling his name: winner of the 56th Hunger Games, Karat Tremotino! The crown on his head, the smile on his face, the cheering Capitol audience. He’ll be loved, he’ll be popular, he’ll be District One’s new golden boy.

What’s more, he will be rich.

All that’s left to do now is to get picked over the horde of other volunteers. To win the game he’s been training so hard for. Tomorrow’s reaping will be the next step into making his long term dreams a reality. He turned eighteen this spring and finished his training just in time to volunteer. Ideally he wouldn’t have left it so last minute, but he had to. There was no way he could have handled the workload that finishing Career school earlier would have meant. He has two younger brothers to care for, after all.

By the time he leaves the school building it’s dark outside. At least the path to his lover’s house isn’t too long - he’s not willing to waste any time getting there. The house he approaches is as small as one would expect from the home of a poorer family, but it’s in good shape. It’s situated close to the edges of the district, farther away from the busy perfume factories and jeweler workshops. The atmosphere around the neighborhood always brings Karat into a pleasant mood.

He knocks on the door almost to the beat of his excited heart. His wait isn’t long. Soon the door opens a tiny crack and a dark brown eye meets his. He sees a glimpse of lips curling into a smile.

“There you are,” a gentle voice behind the door says.

“Here I am,” he replies with a wide grin on his face.

God, he loves Ianthe Chaikin.

Ianthe takes his hand and leads him to sit in front of the warm fireplace in the living room. It soon becomes evident how nervous he is from his unusual quietness. Karat chooses to not mention it for the time being.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he breaks the silence. “Our teacher wanted to keep us overtime tonight. Big day tomorrow and all. We went through all the basic stuff again, as if I’m not going to hear it over and over again at the training center.”

Ianthe doesn’t like the mental imagery of Karat in the training center. He’d rather keep him away from all things Hunger Games related. Unfortunately, that’s something he has been involved with since before they first met. It’s hardly his place to tell him not to go for it, he thinks. What comes out instead when he opens his mouth is a question. “Did you do well?”

“Yep! I got some of the best fighting grades in my class,” Karat says and punches the air a few times for effect. “I’m all ready to go!” 

His excitement is cute, but ultimately makes Ianthe’s dread worse. He gives a weak smile and gets up to make them some tea. Cream and three lumps of sugar for Karat, plain for himself. Now if only he could forget that this might be the last cup he can ever serve him.

“I’m not sure what to do,” he admits when he returns and hands one cup to the boy still brimming with enthusiasm. “Without you here, I mean.”

Karat laughs. “Don’t say that as if I’m not coming home as a victor in a matter of weeks.” The cup is hot in his hands, but he takes a sip anyway. He never learned not to burn his tongue on hot beverages. “Everything will go just how we always dreamed it, alright? I’ll go there and kick ass. You’ll stay here and take care of my brothers. Then we can all go live in the Victor’s Village.” In his mind, the plan is foolproof.

“But...” Ianthe says with a sigh. “I don’t like thinking about you out there, in danger…”

“That’s if I even get to volunteer,” Karat interrupts. “There’s going to be a lot of people dying to get into the games this year, as always.”

 _Good_ , Ianthe thinks. _Less of a chance to lose him._

“But I’m feeling lucky, so it’s probably going to be me!”

“What if I was picked?” Ianthe asks. There’s nothing lucky about it as far as he’s concerned.

“Psh, with all the volunteers out there? Fat chance.”

The district’s enthusiasm for the Games means that no one less interested has to worry about the reaping. Kids are encouraged to take up training alongside their normal education, but it’s never an obligation. It makes tesserae an excellent deal if you’re struggling. With the threat of getting reaped gone, it’s free food. When he was younger, Karat claimed them for himself and both of his brothers in case they were in danger of going hungry. The only problem is the terrible taste of the grain. Even the social stigma caused by such poverty is easier to ignore.

“I guess not,” Ianthe says, “but you’d worry about me, right?”

Karat takes a while to think about it. Ianthe has never been the killing type. He is far too kind and gentle for the Games. “As you are currently, I would,” he answers, “but if you went through training like me, I’d believe in you.” He sips his tea. “You know I need this. I could use the fame and wealth.”

Ianthe’s eyes are fixated on his tea. “I know you’re strong. The problem is, your competition will be too.” Some of the recent victors were brutal and still far too fresh in his mind.

The girl from Seven who wiped out the competition with her amazing archery skills.

The boy from Four who lacked in physical strength compared to others, but used his wits to lead them to their deaths.

The girl from Three who burned the whole pack of Careers alive without mercy.

Karat might have to fight against someone like that. The idea is unthinkable.

“It’s my only chance,” is his defense. “I’m eighteen. It’s now or never. I can’t let my brothers take up training.”

“There have to be less risky ways! We’ll find a way to support each other!”

“And how do you suppose we’ll do that when both our families are broke as shit?”

He’s not kidding in the slightest. The Tremotinos’ life has been a mess since they were young. They have seen more death outside the Games than any child in their district should. First it was their mother, died of sickness not long after her youngest was born. Next their father tried to flee the district, overwhelmed with the responsibility of single parenting. While none of them know about his whereabouts, and only Karat is old enough to remember, it is safe to assume he’s dead or at least not coming back.

After that they stayed with their aunt and uncle. Then they moved out with their cousin, who turned out to care about them more than his parents, once he turned eighteen. Aurelian was a jeweler prodigy becoming a bigger name in the factory he worked in. On the national scale that didn’t mean anything, but it kept the four of them fed.

That was until Aurelian was found dead in a river and his parents were nowhere to be found.

He was only four years older than Karat. He was happy. It made no sense.

Ianthe’s family, on the other hand, didn’t have to welcome the reaper into their home. Instead of death, they have crippling debt. His dad is a priest in the only church in the whole district and struggles to keep them afloat. Capitol doesn’t like religion. They need to maintain a certain level of despair to keep all the districts compliant. As they see it, faith gets in the way of that. There are always peacekeepers outside the family’s sanctuary, making sure no rebellious sermons are held. As the result, going to the church is unpopular. Ianthe always found their occupation title unfitting for this reason. How can they call themselves keepers of peace when they’re keeping peace from the people?

There’s desperation in Ianthe’s voice, but also hope that he might change Karat’s mind. The two families are working in symbiosis now. Surely things can continue like this, even if it’s hard sometimes. “There has to be a way…”

Karat gulps down the rest of his tea. “The games are the way, love.”

“A safe way then,” Ianthe suggests, feeling worse by the minute. “Do you think one of us dying is going to do much good in terms of financial support?”

“I’m not going to die!”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

Finally, Karat has had enough of the argument. He puts the empty cup aside to scoot closer to his lover and touches his cheek.

“If I say I’m going to die now,” he says in a softer tone, “I might as well be dead before it begins. I’m going to fight out there. For you, and for us.”

Ianthe whispers, “I know. I’m just scared.”

“Don’t be…” mumbles Karat. He moves until he is sitting on Ianthe’s lap. “How about we don’t talk about it anymore? Tonight’s the last chance we get to hang out before the reaping.”

Ianthe nods and wraps his arms around him. He’s tearful now after thinking about all the possible ways Karat’s game could go wrong. “You’re right…”

Karat wipes his tears away. They have no business on such lovely cheeks. “I’ll marry you when I come back,” he promises. “In the Capitol, if I can. I bet they’d love to arrange it for us.”

“Wouldn’t that be amazing…”

“You deserve every bit of amazingness this world has to offer.”

The best distraction in the world is a lot of kisses, quiet ‘I love you’s and descriptions of how their ideal wedding would be. It’s so distracting, in fact, that soon all their clothes are on the floor. Ianthe’s dad won’t be home for a few hours and his young cousin who lives with them is asleep. They sure as hell will use the time to the fullest.

The love they make is apocalyptic. It’s now or never. It’s greedy hands grasping at skin, refusing to accept that it might be the last time. The lord’s name escaping Ianthe’s lips is a prayer now, a desperate plea— Oh God, please protect him. God, please don’t take him, not yet, he’s all I have. Afterwards they lie down in a tangle of limbs and love. Their bodies pressed as close together as they feel their souls are.

The rest of Ianthe’s cold tea stays unfinished while they peacefully drift into sleep.


	2. Volunteers

Ianthe is the first to wake up as usual. He’s an early bird, while Karat likes to linger in bed even on important days like this. The pit in his stomach hasn’t disappeared, to his disappointment. Instead, the impending doom is pounding in his head even stronger than before.

Karat is still sleeping like a baby. Ianthe figures he should choose a reaping outfit before he wakes up even if it kills him to leave him alone. This way they can head out sooner; he knows Karat’s going to rush him otherwise. He gives him a tender kiss on the forehead before standing up and walking to the wardrobe.

He takes out some clothes to choose from. In District One, it's top importance to look one's best at the reaping. No one tolerates a person who makes everyone else look bad with their lack of style. Even those who have no plans to volunteer can be granted a second of screen time - it better be a pretty one. This is no District Twelve. Ianthe might not own the fanciest garments nor the flashiest jewelry, but what he has is enough to make him look presentable. Eventually he settles on a modest long-sleeved lace dress that goes past his knees. It's a lovely cream color that compliments his brown skin. A matching ribbon keeps his long black hair tied up. For jewelry, he finds a simple heart necklace - a gift from Karat - and decides that will be enough.

He glances at the bed behind him. It looks like Karat won't rise for a while. He tiptoes out of the room to make him something to eat. If he can't change his mind about volunteering, he can at least help by making sure he's well fed for it.

When he walks to the kitchen, he sees his cousin Malik sitting at the table and dad busy making breakfast. Malik is ten, turning eleven this year a few days before Ianthe’s nineteenth birthday. He goes to class with Karat's youngest brother.

Ianthe smiles and offers them both a quiet "Good morning."

"He's volunteering, isn't he?" Malik asks and his voice is grave. There is no joy on his face. He's taken a liking to Karat as well, which came as a surprise to no one. Children always like that boy, but not as much as Ianthe does. His cousin's dread won't surpass the anxious cocktail he's feeling.

"I’m afraid that's the plan," Ianthe sighs. He joins his father by the counter to offer help with the food. Four hands are better than two for finishing tasks quicker.

Dad tries to comfort him. "He's been training for this," he reminds him. Nothing Karat hasn't told him several times. "And he'll have all our prayers on his side."

Ianthe realizes he's not in the mood to say more. His hands shake when he picks up plates and a tray to put food on for Karat and himself. Some scrambled eggs, toast and glasses of orange juice. These will be the ingredients for a successful morning.

Karat opens his eyes right when he returns to the bedroom. He gasps at the delicious smell of food approaching him and looks delighted when he realizes who's giving him the blessing. "Busy morning, huh?" he purrs and sits up in anticipation. _God, he loves Ianthe Chaikin._

"All for you", Ianthe coos and brings the tray over to the bed. He attempts to act cheerful for Karat's sake. "Did you sleep well?"

"I had a dream of me in the arena," Karat tells him. He takes a bite of his toast while it's still warm. "I was just about to win. I killed the last opponent and blew a kiss to the cameras, for you."

Ianthe smiles. "I can't wait until that becomes reality." He eats too, but most of the food is for Karat. He's the one who needs strength today. "I assume you'll want to get going after this?"

Karat nods. The earlier he is at the town square, the better. "We'll just pick up my brothers and go," he says. "Oh, and I'll need to change too."

"I think you look flawless like that, personally," Ianthe flirts. Of course he's being facetious, Karat couldn't leave the house naked. But the way he looks when he has just woken up, with his hair a mess and the morning light shining in his sleepy face, has always been appealing to him.

Karat's cheeks become a faint shade of red. He only lets out a flustered yet flattered “Shh!” and goes right back to eating.

Before long they’ve emptied the tray of food. Karat gives Ianthe his thanks in the form of a kiss. It’s time for him to dress up in the clothes he arrived in the night before so they can leave.

Malik and Ianthe’s dad will stay behind and arrive at the reaping on their own. Neither is in a hurry. Karat says hi to them as he walks out of the bedroom with his lover. Ianthe’s fingers entwine with his own as they head out of the door.

The sky is clear and it’s pleasantly warm outside. Karat takes the ideal weather as a good sign - if the morning sun shines on him like this, there’s no way he can lose.

The way Ianthe won’t lift his head as he walks next to him is more concerning.

“You’re still worried,” Karat states his observation.

“How could I not be,” Ianthe whines, “and how are you not? This is dangerous.”

Karat flashes a soothing smile and holds his hand tighter. “It’s because I have you, Ianthe,” he confesses. “I think about how you’re always rooting for me and it all becomes easier. You give me hope.”

The words give Ianthe brief solace, but it’s only a short dream in the midst of a nightmare. “You do the same for me,” he says, “but the difference is I might lose you.”

“You won’t,” Karat assures him. “I promise.”

On the way to Karat’s home, closer to the factories, they see other teenagers heading downtown. Karat grits his teeth. “We should hurry so we’re not the last.”

Ianthe knows they’re still on schedule but respects his boyfriend’s wishes.

The Tremotinos reside in Aurelian’s old home that doubled as his own workshop. The house looks larger than Ianthe’s, but the truth is all the tools take up most of the space. The siblings have survived by selling the bracelets, rings and pendants lying around. Unfortunately it’s not a resource that will last them forever. The jewelry belonged to his personal collection; marketing it feels like tarnishing his memory somehow.

Both the children are at the door ready to greet them. There’s Marigold, named after a flower that symbolizes desire for wealth and creativity. They were his mother’s favorite. This name fits like a glove for the headstrong fourteen year old who’s an aspiring writer.

Behind him stands Midas, for the king with the gold touch in ancient myth. The eleven year old is small and timid, but his developing goldsmith skills make him worthy of the name. One day he will continue in his cousin’s footsteps.

That leaves Karat, worth his weight in gold. He completes the set of names appropriate for their district of luxury.

"Good reaping day, Ianthe and Karat," Marigold greets them. He's well-mannered for a young teen. The thorny side of him only shows itself when he’s in a bad mood, and today's event has him in a pleasant state of anticipation. "How’s your morning so far?"

"Excellent!" Karat beams. "Ianthe made me a full breakfast in bed and everything." He glances at his lover, who gives him a humble smile.

"With eggs too?" Midas asks.

“Duh!” Karat answers. "What's a breakfast without them!”

"So, eggcellent..." they can hear Midas mumbling to himself with a tiny smirk on his face. Ianthe giggles.

Anyone could notice the similarity between the brothers. They all have the same caramel hair - Midas’ a shade lighter than the other two so it leans more towards blond. The youngest likes to keep it short, while Marigold prefers his down to his shoulders. Karat’s is somewhere in between, with a hint of intentional dishevelment. The twinkle in their amber eyes makes them resemble their family’s trinkets. None are taller than five foot four, and even Karat at the brink of adulthood still has smooth, youthful facial features. All their ears are on the larger side and somewhat prominent. As Karat sees it, that just means there’s more room for piercings. His eyebrows, arched like his brothers’, are also decorated by two rings each. Aurelian’s jewelry.

There used to be many reasons to pick on them if some mean child was so inclined. They are orphans, paupers, outcasts. All the mistreatment ceased once Karat took up training and became great with knives.

Even the bigger, older kids who made fun of him flinched at his threat: _you will bleed if you upset my brothers._

Both the boys have dressed up to the nines. Then again, by the district's standards it would be up to the eights instead - the family can't afford the finest. The two are handsome in their suits nonetheless, adorned in the best Aurelian's collection has to offer. Marigold is wearing a brooch shaped like his namesake that Midas made.

"The three of you are putting me to shame," Karat jests. "I should dress up too."

He drags Ianthe with him to the bedroom the brothers share. Two outfits complete with jewelry are lying on the bed. He picked them in advance before he left for Career school last morning. "I wanted your opinion on this," he tells him. "Which do you think is better?"

Ianthe finds both of the choices stunning. Karat must have put a lot of effort into assembling the perfect look that people will remember him for. The decision is difficult. He's convinced that his beloved would look good in anything. "Perhaps you could pick at random?"

"No, dummy," Karat says and pretends to be disappointed, complete with a pout. "I want you to pick." 

Ianthe thinks about it for a minute. He points at the ensemble with a gorgeous brown vest, black pants and an off-white formal shirt. The outfit goes well with his own, which the sappy side of him loves. Even if they don't appear on the camera together, they'll be a matching couple.

"Good choice," Karat says and undresses to change clothes. Once finished, he and Ianthe tame his hair by combing it back.

“Looking handsome,” Ianthe praises and leans down to kiss Karat’s cheek. He admires his finished look in the mirror. “The whole Panem will love you.”

“No need to get jealous,” Karat smirks. “You’re the only one I have eyes for.”

Now they're all ready. This time Karat holds hands with both of his brothers, just in case. He doesn’t want them to get lost in the crowd. Ianthe misses the warmth of his hand, but holds onto hope that he'll have it again after he returns.

Marigold strikes up conversation about the games. "What do you think the fashion will be like this year?" he wonders.

"I doubt they'll dress him in anything bad," Ianthe says. District One's stylists are the most competent of the bunch. Perhaps their specialty naturally lends itself into sensible attire. Their choices contributed to the success of many previous victors.

"I might get offended if I don't get a gold-themed costume," Karat laughs. "I mean, hello? My name's Karat. I come from a goldsmith family. Look into my eyes, what do they remind you of? Emeralds?"

"There are many angles to work with that idea, though," Marigold comments. "Even if that much is obvious, you could still end up in something you didn't expect."

"They could paint your whole skin gold," Midas says.

"Like a statue,” Ianthe adds. He imagines Karat shining in the sun, immortalized like the religious figures of his worship. Everyone could see what he sees every time he looks at him.

He’d be a god.

"That would be cool," Karat says, "as long as it was temporary. I can't imagine it working as camouflage in the arena."

They carry on to reminisce about previous costumes, then the topic switches to Capitol celebrities. How lucky Karat is to get a chance to talk to Caesar Flickerman himself. He'll see the president, too, when he wins. In person.

It's unreal that he, an unlucky orphan, will get the chance to even breathe in their company. But he's not just some orphan. He's a winner. This is his chance to prove it. Once he’s famous, people will throw themselves at his feet to get some of Midas’ jewelry. Thousands will read the stories Marigold writes. And Ianthe, his beautiful spouse, will be admired by all of Panem.

The town square is surrounded by peacekeepers. Karat instinctively crouches to avoid their gaze - Ianthe isn’t the only one with sour memories of them. Karat has the past of a pickpocket, a crook, all to give his brothers a better life. He remembers his heart pounding in his chest as he made off with the wallets of oblivious townspeople and the relief that getting home safe with his loot brought him.

He never got caught and those days are over, but they left him an uneasiness with the authorities. That's why he hurries past the guards to bring the group to sign up. Midas goes with the other ineligible children, since he still has a year to go until he’s of reaping age. Meanwhile the other three register and join others of their respective age groups. Ianthe has no desire to define himself as either ‘boy’ or ‘girl’, but for the sake of the reaping he is the latter. Districts, the gender binary - there are many boxes the Capitol tries to put their inferiors in.

The area fills up fast, as no volunteer wants to be late. There's more than an hour until the show starts, but most Career school graduates are present. A strong combined smell of various perfumes fills the air and makes Karat gag.

He tries to locate Ianthe in the crowd, but it’s become too thick and he’s too short. A large mass of people has formed between him and the stage. That won’t do, he thinks. If the situation doesn’t change, someone else will volunteer before him. How convenient that he has the exact skill set for moving in crowds that he perfected as a thief. He ducks under arms and slips between people at every opportunity. When he runs into obstacles that pure stealth won’t solve, he has no choice but to get physical. He might not have the height, but he has sharp elbows.

It's not the fairest move, but there’s nothing fair about the Hunger Games.

After what must be an eternity, Deziree Vivace hops on stage. She is wearing eight inch heels and a huge turquoise wig. Karat, who is now standing where he can see her, wonders how she doesn’t topple over. Large gemstones cover her outfit and add some weight to it as well. They share the color of her magenta eyes that scan the area gleefully under heavy makeup.

“Happy Hunger Games,” she delivers the familiar motto, “and may the odds be ever in your favor!”

This is Deziree’s second time as an escort. Judging by last year, she gives her own quirky touch to the job. The previous fresh tributes both received big kisses from her for ‘luck’, straight on the lips. Karat hopes that isn’t the case this year. The bright cyan color on her plump lips clashes with his style.

“Let’s hear our precious Treaty of Treason, shall we!” she chirps and gives the floor to the district’s mayor. He couldn’t read it faster; Karat wants to get on the stage, his loved ones want to go home. Listing all the previous victors takes forever. Karat doesn’t even pay attention when this year’s mentors, Charm and Crystal, arrive and take their seats.

Many others around him are restless. Girls are getting ready to run. District One has shaped its own system, since the volunteering process is much more interesting than the lottery. The drawing of the names merely starts the race. It’s arranged in two parts: ladies first, like on other districts, then the boys. Everyone used to run at the same time. The change was made to prevent injuries during the ever growing Career mob’s mad dash. A girl at Career school had an uncle who got trampled one year and broke several bones.

Karat is prepared. More prepared than anyone. When Deziree begins with “You know what?” and declares ‘ladies first’ an outdated concept, he’s already running. And he’s fast. He’s at the stage before she can finish reading what she pulled out of the bowl.

His name is in nineteen times. Much more than the average citizen in One, but still barely anything. None of it matters, because he just raised his chances from minuscule to guaranteed.

“I volunteer as a tribute to bring honor to my district!” he shouts with the strongest voice he can muster. He did it. He’s a tribute.

Climbing on the stage feels like he’s going to be crowned a king. The people in the audience are his subjects. He hears the other boys, now mere peasants below him, mutter in jealousy. Not his fault they’re too slow, so far beneath him that he doesn’t have to care about them now.

 _Who do you think you’re kidding, shorty,_ they said.

 _Leave it to the big boys,_ they said.

He made them eat their words when he graduated with top grades. Now he’s force feeding them the regurgitated remains. Watch me, he thinks. I’ll win, and you’ll see who the big boys are.

And then -

**“Karat!!!”**

It’s Ianthe. He charges through the crowd with the power of grief. Behind him Careers stumble back and yell expletives at his audacity.

All the woe he tried to hold in all morning burst out at once. If Karat is in the arena without him, what will become of him? Ianthe is his hope, he said so himself, and that hope will stay behind when he goes to that godless place.

What Karat needs is a guardian angel. Why should it not be Ianthe.

He must protect him.

“I- I volunteer too!”, he wails. “As a tribute! Please, let me!”

Karat freezes with his left foot on the platform, right still on the stairs. His bliss comes crashing down and so does his kingdom. He stands in the ruins desperate to understand what just happened, grasping for any semblance of logic but coming up empty. Ianthe’s wish to give him hope drained him of it all. 

The escort finishes pulling him up, then turns her attention to Ianthe. He just broke at least ten rules about volunteering. But the show is live and Capitol loves its drama, so the bubbly woman on stage forgives it all. So does the mayor, who gives her a silent nod when she turns back to look at him.

“Of course, darling,” she cheers, “how could I say no to this enthusiasm! Come on over!”

The front rows are getting so restless that peacekeepers intervene to keep them away from the stage. Outcries of “Unfair!” and “Redo the reaping!” ring faintly in Karat’s ears. The rest of the audience is silent watching the twist unfold.

“Such a gorgeous couple we have here,” Deziree says. She sounds like she’s gushing about a pair of puppies. “What are your names, dearies?”

“Ianthe Chaikin…” Ianthe whispers. He’s still catching his breath and shaking all over. He can’t look at the boy next to him, so he doesn’t notice the way he’s glaring daggers at him.

“And you, honey?” Deziree turns to Karat.

“Karat,” he snaps. “Tremotino.” His tone is so sharp he could use it to cut bones.

“Fantastic! Magnificent!” she rejoices. “Ladies and gentlemen! Wild applause for the first tributes of the fifty sixth games, please!”

The blatant flaw in Ianthe’s plan only hits him now. Only one will come out alive.

He doesn’t know if it’s out of hatred, fear or both, but he can feel Karat dig his nails into him when Deziree makes them hold hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that this chapter is twice the length of the previous one. This is because I meant the first one to be a bit of a short prologue. Hopefully this one will set the standard for the rest of the story.
> 
> I took some artistic liberties with the reaping to suit my needs - I hope it's not too jarring. That part in particular was tricky to write. I'm still trying to relearn what I could do years ago, so constructive criticism and comments would be appreciated! ♥


	3. Words of farewell

Both Karat and Ianthe only allow themselves to break down in the privacy of the Mayor’s house. Karat’s sorrow is explosive. It’s laced with anger at the injustice of what went down a moment ago. He’s an erupting volcano, his tears are flowing lava. He knocks down a vase on the way to the meeting room prepared for him and doesn’t bother with apologies. The shocked gasps behind him hardly reach his ears.

Ianthe, in stark contrast, suffers in silence. Though he tries to stay calm and collected not to upset Karat further, a couple tears roll down his cheeks. He’s too filled with shame to face the boy he betrayed. There is no room for conversation in Karat’s wrath, either. It’s like the world they built together vanished as soon as the word ‘volunteer’ left Ianthe’s lips. 

The peacekeepers lead them to separate rooms, which Ianthe considers a blessing. He can finally cry his eyes out without worrying about how it will affect his lover - if he can still call him that. The uncertainty of their relationship, not to mention whether their lives will continue much longer at all, gnaws at him and leaves him breathless. He doesn’t even hear the door open in the midst of his sobs. 

“Ianthe…?” Malik’s shaky voice joins the wet, miserable sounds of crying in the room. “Are you alright?” 

Dad stands behind him. Both their faces tell a sad story - they’re struggling with the fallout of Ianthe’s decision. Malik is teary. Dad is stoic, yet devastated. 

Ianthe forces his head up to look at his family. Somehow seeing them makes everything worse, the consequences more real. He already knows he stands no chance in the games. These are people who will mourn him. His decision will affect not only himself and Karat, but them too; likely Karat's brothers as well. If mere emotions could kill, Deziree would already have to get a new tribute in his stead. 

The only response he can muster to Malik's question is descending back into inconsolable sobbing. They understand. Both approach him with loving arms and pull him into their embrace. Dad moves strands of hair out of his face, like he would when he was younger and had a nightmare. Oh, how he wishes this was one too. 

They stay like this for quite a while, finding silent comfort in each other. "Listen, Ianthe," dad then speaks. His voice is as soft as the most comfortable blanket. "We know how hard it must’ve been for you. We can't hold this against you. If you don't return..." 

"He will! He will return!" Malik cries out. He still hasn't quite stepped out of denial that his cousin might very well die soon. "Ianthe, promise you'll come back, please." 

Ianthe is nauseated. Between this, Karat's anger, their approaching deaths... there's too much on his mind and he can block none of it out. But the meeting time has its limit, so he forces himself to speak. "I'm not coming back," he confesses. He has no will to lie to his cousin, or himself. "It has to be Karat. I did this to protect him." 

Malik sniffles. "Maybe they'll let two people win after they see you..." 

"They would never do that", Ianthe sighs. Capitol is too cruel to have any interest in preserving their love and he knows it. 

"Please don't give up hope," dad begs of him, now tearing up himself. "We'll pray for you and Karat every day. Remember how much we love you." 

"I'll try," Ianthe whispers, but can't promise anything more. He gives Malik a kiss goodbye on the forehead before peacekeepers pull him and dad out of the room. “Please take care of Midas and Marigold!”, he shouts in despair before the door closes. In the solitude of the room, he realizes loneliness has never held him like this before. 

The door opens again to welcome in another visitor. His long hair is in a ponytail akin to Ianthe’s but less neat, like he has been running and didn't bother to fix it before his arrival. His clothes are worn. Under his furrowed brow is a pair of dark brown eyes, much like the ones belonging to the rest of their family. In them is a hint of sadness Ianthe doesn't remember seeing before. 

“I’m surprised those guys let me in.” 

"Irinei!" Ianthe exclaims, his voice full of surprise. "I wasn't expecting any more visitors..." 

"It felt wrong not to come," his other cousin replies. He averts his gaze. It's been a long while since they saw each other, and the last time didn’t end in anyone’s favor. 

Even so, Ianthe’s been worrying about him much more than blaming him. He extends his hand to touch Irinei’s arm when he takes a seat, but retreats when he pulls the chair back in response. “How have you been?” 

“I don’t think that matters,” Irinei mumbles, “when I’m not the one heading to the arena.” He watches Ianthe shrink into himself and instantly takes back what he said. “I mean… hell, I didn’t come here to make you feel worse, I’m sorry.” 

Ianthe sniffs. “It’s fine, I’m glad you came at all.” 

Irinei twirls his fingers through his hair, attempting to find the words he needs. “I wasn’t sure you would be,” he admits. “After everything.” 

“But I am, I’m very glad,” Ianthe assures him. “We all miss you.” 

This takes Irinei aback. The last thing he expected to hear was that he was still wanted in their household. He decides to switch the topic. Revisiting the sore subject isn’t all he wants out of his last moments with his cousin. “Anyway, I’m not going to ask what was going through your head when you volunteered or anything, but…” 

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ianthe admits. “All I wanted was Karat safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of him dying alone out there.” 

Irinei sighs. “Figured it was something like that. What’s your plan now?” 

Plan? Ianthe isn’t even done with mourning yet. He has barely given any thought to the game, and why should he? There’s no hope for him. “I… I’ll get myself killed in the bloodbath, so I stop being in his way,” he says. Despair once again looms over him, makes him unable to think straight. 

“What? No,” Irinei says with exasperation. “Really, how is that going to help him?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? That’s one less tribute for him to dispose of!” 

Irinei leans forward and grabs his shoulders, unwilling to put up with this attitude. “Come on. Your early death isn’t going to keep him safe or give him better chances. You know it would only devastate him worse than you already have.” 

What he’s saying makes sense, but Ianthe didn’t need to hear it delivered in such a harsh manner. He shuts his eyes tight and tenses up. “I know,” he whispers in distress, “I know, Irinei.” 

_Having time to rehearse for this motivational speech would have been nice_ , Irinei thinks and purses his lips. He gives Ianthe’s shoulders a quick pat before letting go of them. His hands, now unoccupied but still nervous, find their way back to his lap. “Listen, do your best alright? I’ll make sure your family is fed. The Tremotinos too,” he reassures. “I have my resources.” 

Ianthe doesn’t know what exactly these ‘resources’ entail, but he can guess based on his cousin’s past issues with the law. He’s often wondered where those tendencies came from. He’s not like Karat, whom desperation pushed in that direction. That’s not the question pressing on his mind now, though. “Does that mean you’ll come back home?” 

“Let’s not get too excited,” Irinei retorts, making Ianthe’s shoulders drop even lower. Then his voice softens. “Sorry, that was harsh. I’ll give you a deal. If you show me you’re trying to survive out there, I will.” 

Estranged or not, he still cares about Ianthe’s wellbeing. If bringing peace back into the family would help with it, it’s worth the shot. 

“Sounds good?” 

Ianthe’s lips curve into a tiny sheepish smile and he nods. 

“I’d like everyone to stop giving me crap about the religion thing, too,” Irinei adds, “but I don’t have time to discuss the specifics.” He stands up glancing at the door behind him. “I should go before the peacekeepers realize I’m on their wanted list. See you, hopefully.” 

And he’s gone. What he said gives Ianthe great concern, but he only voices a quiet farewell. Then the door closes again. 

Another story unfolded in the other room. As soon as Karat entered it, he began attacking the furniture as he did with the vase outside. Bam, the table said as Karat kicked it on its side. The bowl of fake fruit on it flew across the room. _Fuck you, plastic bananas_. All the chairs got the same treatment. The next victim was the bookshelf. Karat grabbed his hands full of books and threw them all over the floor. Stray papers from between them scattered around. Then the entire shelf went down. It made a loud noise that startled the young boys just about to enter and the peacekeepers behind them. 

A wet wrath still burned in Karat’s eyes as he turned toward the door, but it soon waned. Embarrassment replaced most of it. Both he and his brothers looked around the war site he caused. If something had been on fire, it would have fit right into the scene. 

The door closed behind the boys. Midas broke the awkward few seconds of silence with a cough. “Um, so I was planning to ask you how you’re doing…” 

Karat let out a brief laugh. A short ha. “Shitty,” he responded. 

Marigold picked up the chairs, led Karat to sit on one and found another for himself. Midas followed suit. Each brother cupped one of Karat’s balled fists into theirs, and for a moment they sat like this and didn’t speak a word. 

“It wasn’t meant to go like this,” Marigold then said. 

“No fucking shit,” Karat hissed. While his rage had subsided, it had never left, and he was still shaking from it. If the boys didn’t know him so well, they would have been afraid. But he wouldn’t hurt them. He could never hurt them. “What was he thinking, joining this game, now he’s gonna - I’m gonna --” 

A feeling of queasiness washed over Midas as he watched his brother cry. He’s never excelled at this whole comforting thing. Neither has Marigold, but he tried his best anyway. His thumb gently rubbed the back of Karat’s hand. “I think… his emotions blinded him to the consequences,” he mused. “He must have been -- he must be afraid.” 

“I’m afraid too,” Midas whispered, surprising both himself and his siblings. Then he closed up as fast as he had laid himself open. His arms wrapped around his body defensively as if he had revealed a huge secret. 

Marigold nodded and ran with Midas’ thought. “We’re afraid too,” he corrected. “We believe in you, but it’s not going to be easy out there.” 

Karat wanted to scream. Why were all his loved ones turning against his lifelong plan now, of all times? Was the previous support fabricated? Why does everyone think he will die! 

Marigold sensed he struck a nerve, though Karat kept quiet. This wasn't his intention; the last thing either of them wanted was an argument in this situation. Midas shrank in his seat and his eyes darted to anywhere in the room but his brothers. 

Instead of trying to console his older sibling with words, Marigold took Karat’s fist and turned it over. “Open your hand,” he said. As Karat did, he unpinned the flower on his lapel and placed it in his palm. “Your token,” he then clarified, but Karat already understood. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

Without a word, Midas got up. He started to clean up the papers on the floor and placing the fruit back into their bowl. Shame they were fake; he could have used a light snack to help with the stress. He felt like he could faint any moment. Marigold gave Karat one more pitying look before helping Midas out. They got the table back into its original state, but the bookshelf was too heavy for them to lift. They piled the books on the table and floor instead, as neatly as they could. 

Two peacekeepers barged into the room before they finished. They were astounded by the disarray, but chose to give Karat no grief over it. That, or they were going to let someone else know and punish him later. 

One of the peacekeepers gave him a disapproving glance as they took the boys away from him. Or so Karat assumed anyway. It was hard to read their face under the helmet, but he could just tell. He returned the gesture and added in two middle fingers free of charge. 

Normally this would have been when Ianthe entered the room, gave him a few more kisses for luck and sent him off. But he was in the other meeting room. Karat still hadn’t found a clue for how to deal with it. Part of him wished someone else came through the door, anyone at all, but that would have meant them seeing him in such a weak state. It would have been bad whether it was his absent father or anyone from training school. 

But nobody came. He didn’t know if he was glad or not. He sat still, listening to his own agitated breathing, clutching the marigold pin in his palm. Its pointy edges dug into his skin. A sharp reminder of how real the situation is. 

The truth is still beating in his head by the time he’s taken to the train. 

He’ll have to fight even harder than he anticipated. 

To get Ianthe out alive.


End file.
